


naps and stolen photographs

by ddacat



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, One-Shot, a love so beautiful, and later he indirectly shows that he likes you back :), and with the boy as xiao gui but he literally could be anyone!!, but i wrote this with "the room" being an idol producer practice room, kind of tsundere??, miss in kiss, originally posted on twitter and medium, possibly series of one-shots, so it's reader x whoever your bias is, so you get up to some shenanigans, technically this could be any fandom/original, themed like a teen high school romance drama kinda, then fall asleep on him!, there are no names in this fic, where you find him taking a nap, you stumble into a practice room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddacat/pseuds/ddacat
Summary: Of course the only smart solution to finding him napping in a practice room is taking silly selfies with his sleeping face.





	naps and stolen photographs

 

It’s a quiet, empty room, and he’s in the corner, slumped against the wall, asleep. You approach carefully, tip-toeing. You wave your hand in front of his face, listen to the soft ins and outs of his breath. Your camera is in your hand; when you slide down the wall to sit next to him, you turn it on, aim it at both of your faces, flash the biggest grin, and click the shutter button. He shifts slightly, hair falling into his eyes. He readjusts his head on his arms and reveals fabric wrinkles imprinted on his cheeks. The camera whirs, printing out the photo on a Polaroid card.

Raising the camera again, you pose, holding out one hand by his face, framing him. You take several more pictures, with kissy faces, silly faces, innocent smiles, while still he slumbers in the background. When you bore of photography, you set the camera in your lap and lean into him, your head pressed into his shoulder. For a while, you just watch him, practicing matching your each breath with his. It’s not easy; asleep, his breaths are so slow and soft, but he’s so warm. In ten minutes you’re asleep too, your mouth slightly open, the camera clutched tightly in your hands.

When he wakes up, and notices your presence, he jumps, startled, and you wake up, too.

_When did you arrive,_ he says, accusingly, and you lift your head, rubbing your eyes.

_I dunno, when did you?_

He shakes out his arm, rolling his neck and shoulders in a stretch. You’ve drooled a bit on his sleeve, and he wrinkles his nose. He’s the first to leave.

Later, going through the photos you secretly took, you notice several are missing. They aren’t in the room, either, so you ask around, asking if anyone’s seen them. He overhears; when you’re alone, he brings the photos to you, says he found them in the room after you left, pulls them out of his back pocket. They aren’t in perfect condition anymore; the edges are a bit worn, the colors slightly faded in certain spots.

_If you have them, then keep them_ , you say. He looks annoyed, but returns them to his pocket before you say anything else. As he does, you catch a glimpse of the pose you’d made in the photo: you’re leaned toward him, your eyes closed, your fingers making the shape of a heart, and your lips pursed, blowing him a kiss.

 


End file.
